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The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet

A Critical Edition by Amy M. Charles

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221

SCEN. 2.

Martagon, Cynosbatus, Poneria.
Ma.
Divinest Matron; god-inspired Sybill
Doe this, and be what thou canst desire.

Po.
Doubt not great Martagon but I will effect it.

Ma.
Now deere Cynosbatus let us prepare
To resist th' impression of our foes:
Since that our powerfull forces ready stand,
To be obedient to our great command.

Cy.
With thee I am resolv'd to spend my breath,
Indifferent in the choice of life or death.

Exeunt Ma. Cy.
Po.
Agnostus come forth: blacke cloud of ignorance,
Advance thy leaden pate, dull Camell.

Ag.
I cannot brooke this thin and piercing ayre.

Po.
Thou sonne of sleepe; that hat'st the lightsome day,
Clap on thy spectacles of judgement, and behold
How I have plaid my part.
Thou flow'st with gall (Agnostus) I confesse,
But thou hast a braine intolerably dry,
As empty of wit, as the world is of conscience.

Ag.
What hast pluck'd up the flowers by the roots,
Or is all Thessaly in a combustion?

Po.
Surcharg'd with deepe despite and viprous hate,
Their forces they against each other bend.


222

Ag.
Then I hope their painted pride shal quickly be abated.

Po.
But I have a plot, old plumbeous dotard,
To crop the proudest flower that growes
In Hybla or Hymettus.

Ag.
Poneria, I adore thy art and wisedome.

Po.
This glasse containes a rare confection:
Tis vipers bloud mix'd with the juyce of Aconite:
This is the Philter, the sweet love-potion
Which Eglantine poore love-sick foole,
Must commend to the Shepheard Rhodon,
Who this night by my appointment,
Is to meet her in the mirtle grove, under the
Name of Iris: now Ile to Eglantine,
And blesse her longing eares with these glad tidings.

Ag.
Oh great profound Poneria: never yet
Was any that could parallell thy wit.

Exeunt.